


Let Me Be Your Shield

by Fuhadeza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-01 07:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuhadeza/pseuds/Fuhadeza
Summary: Hana Song has her defense mechanisms. They work for her, and she's not going to change just because some people think she's childish. Even if it means denying herself the chance to form meaningful relationships on her new posting. Even if it means spending most of her time alone.Sometimes, though, change catches you with your guard down.





	1. Hana

**Author's Note:**

> I feel vaguely guilty for writing in another fandom. I hope you can all forgive me.

Hana was halfway through her post-flight checklist when Brigitte Lindholm walked into her life. The left cannon hadn’t been tracking properly in testing, and she had half the housing panels off when she became aware that there was someone standing in the doorway. ‘You lost or what?’

‘No,’ the stranger said. ‘They said I’d find you down here. I wanted to introduce myself.’ Hana couldn’t quite place the accent—Europe somewhere, but most Europeans sounded the same to her. It was cute, though.

‘New girl. I remember.’

‘Brigitte Lindholm.’ She took a step into the maintenance bay. ‘You need a hand?’

Hana balanced her wrench on the mech’s arm and extricated herself from the spare parts littered around her. She was still wearing her flightsuit, and she knew exactly how awkward it made people. ‘Hana Song,’ she said, sauntering up and accepting Brigitte’s handshake. ‘And thanks, but no thanks.’

‘You sure?’ Brigitte’s eyes were on the mech. ‘I’ve never worked on any of the Korean models, but I’d love to see—’

‘You and every other engineer on this damn base.’ Hana frowned. ‘Mech’s mine. Don’t trust anyone else with it.’

Brigitte laughed. ‘All right. I know how it is. I’ll see you around.’

Hana didn’t bother returning the goodbye. The cannon wasn’t fixing itself.

*

The next time she saw her, Brigitte was sitting at the kitchen counter in one of the common rooms, eating a pastry.

‘What’s that?’

Brigitte looked up. ‘Cardamom bun,’ she said between bites.

Hana narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen those around before.’

Brigitte shrugged. ‘There’s a bakery down in the city that does them. I put in a request.’

Hana helped herself to an energy drink from the fridge. They were nearly out. She’d have to requisition more.

‘It’s quiet for a weekend,’ Brigitte went on. ‘I figured people would have time off. What do you even do for fun around here?’

‘Me?’ The sound of the can opening was music to her ears. ‘I stay in my room and play video games. Everyone else? Who knows. I bet they don’t have time for those sorts of distractions.’ She gave that last word aggressive air quotes. ‘Too old, the lot of them.’

‘What about Lena? She’s only, what, twenty-six?’

Hana snorted. ‘Tracer owns an apartment in London, which she shares with her long-term girlfriend. Ergo, too old.’ She squinted. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I play a lot of games, if you ever want company,’ Brigitte said, licking the remnants of pastry off her fingers.

Hana hopped up onto the stool opposite Brigitte. ‘Wouldn’t be worth the five minutes it’d take me to kick your ass.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘This is embarrassing. _Please_ tell me you know who you’re talking to.’

‘Easy there, diva. Your reputation _definitely_ precedes you.’ Brigitte cleared her throat. ‘But I grew up north of the Arctic circle. One of my sisters wants to go pro, even.’

Hana reappraised her. ‘Finland?’

‘Sweden.’

‘Shame. Finns could at least give me a run for my money. Your sister any good?’

‘She’s twelve.’

‘So what? I won my first title when I was thirteen.’ Hana took a swig of her drink. ‘What?’ she added, because Brigitte was hiding a smile behind one hand.

‘He warned me about you.’

‘Who?’

‘My godfather. Reinhardt.’

Hana made a face. ‘Oh my god, he’s the _worst_. Do something useful with your time, Hana! Come on, tell me, what’d he say?’

‘That you’re vain,’ Brigitte said, ticking words off on her fingers. ‘Arrogant. Prickly. He repeated that one a couple times.’ She grinned. ‘One time when he was a little drunk he called you an “infuriating little brat”.’

‘Guilty!’ Hana said, toasting the air with her can. ‘But he forgot the part where I’m really fucking good at what I do.’

‘No, he didn’t.’ Brigitte stood up and took her plate over to the dishwasher. ‘I got work to do. But let me know if you feel like kicking my ass some time.’ She winked. ‘Promise I won’t let you win.’

*

Three weeks later, Brigitte took a map off Hana for the first time. ‘Good game,’ Hana said automatically, waiting for the inevitable crowing. She always hated losing, but she hated losing even more when the other person made a big deal out of beating _her_ in particular.

‘You too.’ Brigitte grinned. ‘That’s definitely never going to happen again.’

Hana blinked. ‘What?’

‘Come on, you don’t need me to tell you that you’re incredible. That was hands down the best game I ever played and I still needed you to make a few mistakes to even have a chance.’

Hana took her headset off—they were in the same room, but it felt weird to play without it—and put it away, to give herself time to think. ‘What did you mean,’ she said, ‘when you said Reinhardt didn’t forget?’

Brigitte cocked her head. ‘Just that. He spends ten minutes complaining about how annoying you are, and then he ends by saying that there’s almost no one he’d trust to have out in the field more than you.’

Hana frowned. ‘We’ve only been working together six months.’

‘You must’ve made a hell of an impression, then.’

‘Yeah,’ Hana said slowly. ‘I guess so.’

*

‘Hey hey.’

Hana glanced up from her desk and groaned. ‘Do you have to sound so cheerful all the time? You're worse than Tracer.’

Brigitte smiled. ‘Blame the language. A Swede could want to murder you, and to an English speaker the hello would still sound friendly.’

Hana took a swig from the half empty can next to her keyboard. The soda was warm and flat, at least a day old, and she cursed and reached for the fresh one next to it. ‘Then skip the greetings. Who has time for that shit, anyway?’

Brigitte mounted an office chair backwards and kicked off, crossing the distance between them quickly enough that Hana flinched back before she could stop herself. ‘Skip the greetings? What would Reinhardt say?’

Hana mumbled something under her breath.

‘That's right. He'd be appalled.’ Brigitte crossed her arms on the back of the chair and leaned in. ‘Let's start again. Hey hey!’

‘Was there something you wanted to say?’ Hana said through gritted teeth. Brigitte didn't reply, but her grin grew ever wider. ‘Ugh! Fine. Hello. What do you want?’

Brigitte’s expression was entirely too satisfied. ‘You wanna get a drink some time?’

‘What?’

‘I said, do you want to get a drink with me some time.’

Hana stared at her. ‘I'm not gay.’

‘I didn't ask if you were gay.’ Brigitte tilted her head in picture-perfect puzzlement. ‘I asked if you wanted to get a drink some time.’

Hana opened her mouth. Closed it. Frowned. ‘Why do you even _like_ me?’

Brigitte laughed. ‘Because you try so hard to make people _dis_ like you. Drink?’

‘No.’ Brigitte was half out of the chair before Hana’s mouth overruled her brain and blurted out, ‘I mean yes.’

Brigitte’s smile, wide and sincere, just about made up for the embarrassment rapidly overtaking Hana. ‘Tomorrow? Seven?’

Hana nodded automatically.

‘I'll come get you.’ Brigitte winked. ‘Wear something nice.’

*

Hana behaved—just about. She hadn’t packed a wardrobe with a view to dating, but then it was summer in southern Spain and the standards around “nice” fell as the temperature rose. Deliberately not giving it too much thought, she settled on a top that would have been scandalously revealing if her shorts didn’t ride up nearly to her navel. The effect was rather ruined by the pair of cat-ear hair-clips she put in at the last minute. It wouldn’t do to have Brigitte thinking she was taking this too seriously.

She was starting to wonder if she should just go get Brigitte—they had rooms on the same corridor, the whole waiting to be picked up thing was silly anyway—when the door intercom buzzed.

‘You’re late,’ Hana said into the speaker, then frowned when she noticed the time on the display: _19:03_. She’d thought it was later than that.

The door slid open. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t find one of my shoes.’ Brigitte trailed off as she took in Hana’s outfit. ‘Hey there, kitten. You got a tail under those shorts?’

It was a normal, English “hey”, and for that alone Hana was thankful. ‘You’d like that, would you?’ She gave Brigitte her best disdainful look. ‘Perv.’

Brigitte grinned. ‘Maybe I would. Shall we?’ She offered Hana her arm.

Hana blinked and took it. Brigitte was taller than her, more muscular, and it almost felt like any other date she’d ever been on, back when she was an independent adult at sixteen and thought herself as worldly as they came. But those dates had been all about snide, ironic remarks, points scored and defences punctured—inevitable, maybe, when your peers consisted almost entirely of gamers. It had been a delicate balancing act, always demonstrating that you were interested, but not _too_ interested. There had been none of Brigitte’s… honesty.

‘Where are we going?’ she said, adjusting her hold on Brigitte’s arm. The other woman was wearing something Hana would have called armwarmers if it hadn’t been summer, and the material they were made of was so delicate she was worried it’d rip if she gripped too hard.

‘Somewhere that serves cocktails. Cold ones. That okay?’

‘Fine.’

A few paces later, Brigitte said, ‘you look cute.’

Hana gave her a sideways glance. ‘Adorable cute or hot cute?’

‘Do I have to pick?’

Hana mulled that over. ‘Thanks,’ she said eventually. ‘You too.’ Other than the armwarmers, Brigitte was wearing perfectly sensible summer clothing. With her forearms covered, though, she gave the impression of a person who wasn’t willing to accept she no longer lived somewhere cold. ‘Maybe not adorable, but I’ll give you exotic.’

Brigitte snorted. ‘No one’s ever called me exotic before.’

‘Yeah? Lucky you.’ Hana winced even as she said it, but there was no point apologising now.

‘Touché.’

Point scored. ‘Anyway,’ Hana said, but she had nothing to follow up with. They were saved from further awkwardness by the main gate, which required a security check from both of them. Hana hadn’t actually left the base since arriving in Gibraltar—even if she’d wanted to go out when the others had downtime, they usually put in a request for a dropship, and at that point it was almost easier to hit somewhere more exciting, on the African coast or one of the larger islands—and it took her a few seconds to work out the retinal scan.

‘This is nice,’ she said as they made their way down the steep path into the city proper. Gibraltar was not large, but the warren of streets that served as its core was well-stocked with bars and nightclubs. ‘Going somewhere local, I mean.’

Brigitte glanced her way, as if determining whether the comment was genuine. ‘Would’ve felt stupid if I was stationed here and never actually saw anything outside the base.’

Evidently Brigitte had done her research. She led them straight through half a dozen intersections and Hana, who was normally excellent at keeping track of that sort of thing, found herself enjoying the feeling of being escorted somewhere instead.

The bar was tiny but packed, down a narrow alley and with one single table sitting invitingly empty outside. Hana made a beeline for it, ignoring the offended looks as she beat another couple to it by a handful of paces. ‘D.Va wins,’ she said in her best streamer voice as Brigitte took her seat in a rather more leisurely fashion.

‘Knew you’d come in handy,’ Brigitte said, but there was a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She glanced down at the screen in front of them and tapped in her order.

There were several pages of cocktails to peruse, and Hana liked to take her time. She went through them one by one, briefly tempted to order a Sex on the Beach just for the look on Brigitte’s face, before finally settling on a caipirinha. ‘What?’ she said when she looked up again. ‘I’m picky.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

Their drinks arrived a few minutes later, along with a pitcher of water large enough for a table of four. ‘They must know you’re Swedish,’ Hana said. ‘Worried you’ll get heatstroke.’

It came easily after that. Brigitte spoke openly about her family—a seemingly endless source of relevant anecdotes—while Hana, also openly, steered the conversation away from her own. Talking about her upbringing made her awkward, sometimes, but there was something reassuringly casual about it this time—Brigitte was plainly curious, but never pushed on those doors Hana had shut behind her. Her drink was good, too, for a caipirinha made outside Brazil, and she was halfway through her second when Brigitte mentioned an ex and gave her the opening she’d idly been waiting for all evening.

‘So, you’re gay then.’

‘Nope.’

‘Bi?’

‘No.’

Hana frowned. ‘How does that work?’

‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’

‘Hey! I’m only, what, four years younger than you?’

Brigitte’s eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘You mean I’m on a date with a _teenager_?’

Hana settled into a pout. ‘Twenty next month.’

Brigitte raised her hands in apology. ‘I take it back. God knows I got enough of that when I was in my teens.’

‘Yeah?’

‘For some reason, people who build giant robots don’t have time for fourteen-year-old girls.’

‘Shoulda gone for the medium-sized robots. All the meka pilots are my age. I’m in my _prime_.’ Hana flexed one arm. ‘You’d understand if you were younger.’

Brigitte looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. She reached past Hana for the pitcher of water, and if the muscles in her arm didn’t _need_ to work quite as hard as they did to pick it up, it wasn’t like Hana _minded_.

‘What about you, then?’ Brigitte said once she’d refilled their glasses, Hana’s first and then her own.

Hana rewound the conversation. ‘Me? I’m straight.’ She waved away Brigitte’s raised eyebrows. ‘No, no, listen. You know sometimes you meet someone, and they seem almost perfect except for one thing, and you think, okay, give it a go, maybe the thing isn’t that important?’

‘Sure.’

Hana gestured vaguely at Brigitte. ‘Well, maybe the thing isn’t that important.’

‘The thing that I’m a girl.’

‘Yeah.’

‘They have a word for that, you know, and I’m pretty sure it’s not “straight”.’

Hana glared at her. ‘I said maybe, all right?’

‘Fair enough.’ Brigitte smiled and reached across the table to take Hana’s left hand in one of hers. ‘Sorry. I was just teasing. I don’t really think it matters what word you use.’

Hana spent a few more moments in a calculated sulk. Then the gentle pressure of Brigitte’s thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand got to her, and she relented. ‘I’ll accept that.’

‘One thing, though.’ Brigitte’s smile widened. ‘Almost perfect, huh?’

Hana snapped her mouth shut, as if she could take back words nearly a minute old. ‘It’s not my fault you have some sort of vendetta against sleeves…’ She trailed off. In her head, it had sounded more like a taunt and less like a confession. ‘Don’t let it go to your head,’ she added, but her heart wasn’t really in it, and by then she was almost certain she was blushing. Brigitte was just sitting there, watching curiously: _are you planning on putting that shovel down, or… ?_ ‘Whatever.’ Hana drained the rest of her drink. The ice had melted, taking the edge off the alcohol, and the result was pleasingly gentle. So fortified, she met Brigitte’s gaze and lifted her chin in challenge. ‘You wanna go dancing, or what?’

*

When Hana woke the room was cold with pre-dawn light. Her head was thick with sleep and a haze not nearly strong enough to be called a hangover, and for a minute she simply lay there.

One of her nipples was uncomfortably stiff, and in this manner she realised, firstly, that she was naked, and secondly, that there was an arm wrapped around her side, solid and firm, fingers curled protectively around her other breast.

Memories of the previous night returned with only a mild effort. She waited for the vague disappointment she'd come to associate with one night stands, and on which account she usually steered clear of them, but there was nothing. Her body felt sticky and sated, and if her emotions planned to contradict the pleasant languor in her limbs, they were taking their time about it.

‘Good morning.’

Brigitte’s accent was stronger than usual. Hana made sure to hide her smile before rolling over to face her, dislodging Brigitte’s arm in the process. She told herself she didn’t regret its absence. ‘I don't normally go in for this sort of thing.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Really? This wasn't the play? Seduce the cute, innocent young girl, maybe brag a little about how easy it was to get D.Va in bed with you…’ Hana waggled her eyebrows. ‘I'm not judging, by the way, I'd totally do that in your place.’

Brigitte propped herself up on one arm, the sheet sliding down her chest as she did so. Hana tried not to blush. ‘Believe it or not, sex wasn’t the purpose of this exercise.’

‘Guess you got a little sidetracked then, huh.’

‘You're selling yourself short.’ Brigitte’s smile was all the brighter for the dimness. Then it fell away. ‘I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have… you were drunk.’

Hana waved one hand. ‘So were you. Don't worry about it.’

‘Still…’

‘Hey, Lindholm, chill. Love the chivalry, but I only had a couple drinks. I knew exactly what I was doing.’ Hana sat up and cast around for her clothing. There was a pile by the bed, much bigger than the two of them could have accounted for last night, and Hana filed that fact away. _Brigitte: doesn't believe in wardrobes_. She sifted through the pile by touch, discarding several too-large bras before finding the right one.

‘Want to borrow clean underwear?’

Hana turned around. Brigitte had Hana’s crumpled underwear in one hand—printed with cats, and how funny she’d thought herself when she’d chosen that pair—and a plain white cotton pair in the other.

‘Thanks.’ Hana took the clean pair and shimmied into it. ‘You can keep those, if you want,’ she added, winking exaggeratedly. ‘To remember me by. I'll trade you for a shirt. Something big and loose and Swedish, so everyone knows what I've been up to.’

‘Sure.’ Brigitte tucked the cat underwear under one arm and reached over her side of the bed to produce a soft, flannel shirt from what Hana assumed was the clean pile of laundry. ‘Will this do?’

Hana’s eye twitched. Was there any way to throw the other woman off? ‘Perfect.’

‘You're only three doors down,’ Brigitte said as Hana shrugged into the shirt. If she was at all perturbed by the other woman's desire to leave, it didn't show. ‘Plus there’s hardly anyone around this early. Who are you expecting to run into?’

‘Doesn't matter,’ Hana said. ‘AI’ll see. Is Athena into girls, do you think? I could wear this unbuttoned.’

Brigitte stepped up to her and straightened the collar. ‘Doesn't matter.’ Her hand lingered by Hana’s cheek. ‘You're beautiful regardless.’

Hana opened and then closed her mouth. ‘I can't find anything in this,’ she managed eventually. ‘Could you bring the rest of my clothes later… ?’

‘Of course.’ Brigitte leaned down and kissed the top of Hana’s head. ‘And Hana?’

‘Yes?’

She leaned in even further. ‘Thanks for the orgasms.’

Hana was an expert in being smug, but even she didn't know how to react when a beautiful, naked woman offered her smugness on a platter. She stuttered a response and fled.

*

Hana didn’t avoid Brigitte after that. She didn’t duck into empty rooms or go the other way down corridors. She was just busy, that was all, and she spent more time holed up in her room than even she normally did. It had nothing to do with the memory of Brigitte’s arm around her.

Because she wasn’t avoiding Brigitte, there was nothing strange about the fact that she bumped into her, a week later, in the main maintenance bay. It was the middle of the night, and all she’d needed were a few spare parts, but still. It was perfectly logical for Brigitte to be there, working on some kind of barrier shield.

Brigitte stepped away from the workbench and pushed her protective goggles up to her forehead. ‘Hey. You doing all right? Haven’t seen you around in a while.’

‘Fine,’ Hana said, wrestling one of the storage bins out of its housing and frowning at the contents. ‘Where do they keep the replacement hydraulics?’

‘Third from the left. Need some help? I’m just about done here.’

Her instinct was to refuse, but if Hana was being honest herself, it had been a while since someone who really knew what they were doing had looked at the mech. She was perfectly qualified for the basic maintenance, true, but swapping out the entire hydraulic system in one of the legs was a little past her paygrade. ‘I knew you were just trying to get in my mech,’ she said, because that was her way of saying yes. Then she stretched, ostentatiously. ‘Or maybe you just wanted another eyeful, huh?’

Brigitte grinned. ‘I can’t deny I like seeing you in my clothes.’

Hana froze mid-stretch. She’d totally forgotten she was wearing Brigitte’s shirt over her flightsuit. It made a good concession to the increasingly cool nights: the suit was a pain to take off—she usually didn’t bother until she was back in her own room—and the flannel was warm and large and soft.

‘So,’ Brigitte said, stepping past her and pulling open the third storage bin from the left. ‘What do you need?’

When they were back in the smaller bay and Brigitte was examining the mechanisms inside the mech’s left leg, Hana began to have her doubts. ‘This isn’t, like, a date or anything.’

Brigitte’s voice came back muffled. ‘I didn’t think it was.’

‘Okay. Good. Because I don’t, you know, like you or anything.’ Hana winced. ‘In that way. I don’t—you’re nice.’

Brigitte poked her head out from behind the mech. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me,’ she said gently. ‘But thank you for telling me how you feel.’

‘Ugh.’ Hana stuck her tongue out. ‘How are you always so damn _genuine_? Isn’t it exhausting?’

‘Large family,’ Brigitte said, turning back to her work. ‘You either learn to communicate openly or you end up hating each other.’

‘Sounds like a nightmare.’

‘You get used to it. It was good practice for adulthood. Maybe you should try it.’

Hana bristled, but Brigitte’s voice was soft and teasing, and she couldn’t mind too much. ‘My communication is perfectly adult, thanks very much.’

‘Yeah? How many dates have you been on?’

‘Tons.’

‘How many second dates?’

Hana only had to think about it for a moment. ‘Two.’

‘How many second dates have you _wanted_ to be on?’

Hana paused. ‘Two,’ she said. Then she thought about it a little more. ‘But not the same two.’

‘See? Everyone thinks it’s so complicated, but it isn’t, not really. You just have to be honest about what you want, and communicate it.’ Brigitte emerged again, wiping her hands on her overalls. ‘Easy.’

‘Right.’ Hana rolled her eyes. ‘Easy.’

Brigitte laughed. ‘I meant the hydraulics. Knowing what you want? Learning to relate to people? That bit’s hard.’

‘It was different in Busan, you know.’

Brigitte put the spanner she was holding down, carefully, as if afraid that any sudden movements might startle Hana out of her reflective mood. ‘Yeah?’

‘I mean, okay, the whole dating thing was a disaster. But I knew where I stood. I had close friends.’ Hana paused. ‘A close friend,’ she amended. ‘But me and the other mech pilots… We were teenagers, you know? Teenagers who’d become celebrities, and then heroes, and then… How does anyone relate under that pressure? You don’t. The only genuine moments are wordless. Helping each other. Saving each other. Mourning each other.’ She shrugged. ‘And the rest of the time you make fun of each other and laugh and pretend it doesn’t matter.’

‘And here?’

Hana looked up. Brigitte had one hand on the mech’s arm, as if afraid to offer comfort any more directly than that, and just the sight of it relieved a bit of the tension in Hana’s own crossed arms. ‘Here I don’t even have that. Everyone treats me like I’m a child because, what, there’s merchandise with my face on it? They don’t get it.’

‘What don’t they get?’

‘It was a coping mechanism. For all of us, I mean, the whole city. Invent heroes, idolise them, turn it into a game, because then there are rules and the good guys win in the end. We pretended it was normal, but that’s what it was, and it worked.’ Hana met Brigitte’s gaze, a challenge, daring her to criticise. ‘And here Morrison chides me for being childish. Your godfather tells me that the things that got me through the last couple years aren’t a good use of my time.’ Hana’s voice had risen steadily, and she was nearly shouting by the time she reached the end of the sentences, fingers digging painfully into her arm. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax her grip. ‘So, yes, I have defence mechanisms. I’m not going to apologise for it.’

‘I’m not asking you to apologise.’

‘Then what _do_ you want?’

‘Nothing.’ Brigitte smiled slightly. ‘You were the one who brought it up. What did _you_ want?’

‘Nothing,’ Hana shot back. ‘I don’t need a shoulder to cry on.’ She stalked over to the door, then looked over her shoulder, her hand hovering on the keypad. ‘Do you want the shirt back?’

‘Keep it.’ Brigitte hadn’t moved. The openness in her expression stirred an envy deep inside Hana. ‘It looks good on you.’

*

The next day Hana was called back to Busan, and she spent the whole trip telling herself it would be good to get away, to spend some time among people who _really_ understood her.

Then Dae-hyun called, and somehow she knew what the news was even before she answered.

‘Sorry, Hana. Computer systems went down in the Incheon outpost. They needed an expert.’ He smiled. ‘We’re the experts now, huh? Who’d have thought!’

And she made the right noises and told herself it didn’t matter, but of course it wasn’t the same. She’d always been the favourite, the darling, but it hadn’t mattered then: the bonds of camaraderie were stronger than that. Now she’d spent six months on the other side of the world while the fight in Busan went on, and the mythology of Overwatch had rubbed off on her. She’d left, and the others had stayed, and if the familiar barrage of insult-greetings had more in the way of the former than the latter, she told herself a little resentment was inevitable; and if the jagged-glass smile she offered in response simply confirmed their suspicions of her sudden superiority, well, that was how it had always been, and perhaps it was better out in the open.

Even as she crashed into an anonymous hotel bed, she thought: this is unwinding, this is what I need, a few days and I’ll be back to normal.

The conviction lasted until the moment she stepped off the dropship, back in Gibraltar, and there was Brigitte on the landing platform, doing something to the innards of another dropship, and she greeted Hana with a smile and that _goddamn_ cheerful Swedish “hey”, and two things happened at once: all the stress of her trip to Korea lifted, and she burst into tears.

There were few constants in her life, but here was one of them: Hana Song did not cry. She pushed past Brigitte, nails biting into her own palms, and rounded a corner before the other woman could so much as raise a hand to slow her.

Her room would have been too obvious. Instead she made her way to the rec room off the secondary maintenance bay, the one which housed her mech and which no one but her ever used. It was a scruffy, untidy room, dominated by two battered old leather sofas, but it was private and it was comfortable and that was the important thing.

By the time Brigitte found her, Hana had dried her tears. That was something.

‘Hi.’

Hana was occupying one of the sofas, feet up and facing away from the door. ‘Hi,’ she said, and marvelled that the act of saying hello could be so easy and so loaded at the same time.

‘Can I come in?’

‘It’s a common room. Anyone can come in.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Got the clearance, don’t you?’

‘Hana,’ Brigitte said, so gently it made Hana feel like she was made of glass. ‘Do you want me to come in?’

That was the problem with deflection. It only worked if everyone else was playing by the same rules, and one of those rules absolutely forbade direct inquiries. ‘Yes!’ Hana said, more sharply than she’d intended, as if the gravity well inside her would only allow something so crass as _sentiment_ to escape if it did so with great force. Hana kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling as Brigitte sat on the other sofa. ‘It’s all your fault, you know.’

‘What is?’

‘This! Me, lying here. A few weeks hanging around you and I can’t even handle a few light barbs! I got so used to you being… _nice_ to me, and I, I _missed_ you—it—I missed it, and now what am I supposed to do?’ Hana stood up and stalked over to the wall, because it was easier to ignore Brigitte when she was out of peripheral vision. ‘Everyone’s gonna think I’ve gone _soft_.’

‘You missed me?’ There was no mistaking the smile in Brigitte’s voice.

‘I—yes, all right? But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to do _sincere_. Not when—when there might be more dates involved. It’s driving me crazy.’

The squeak of sofa springs was unmistakable. Brigitte’s footsteps were soft on the plastic floor. ‘Do you want me to show you?’

Hana didn’t trust her voice. She nodded.

Arms encircled her from behind, gentle, _powerful_ arms, and Hana let herself lean back against Brigitte’s chest. ‘I like you,’ Brigitte said, her breath soft on Hana’s ear. ‘Prickliness and all. I don’t want to change you. But—if you want—I want to help you change yourself, just a little. You don’t always have to be defensive.’

‘So, what, you want me to be nice to everyone?’

Brigitte laughed. The vibration of it travelled all the way through Hana and into the ground. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I want you to let me be nice to _you_. You need defences? Let me defend you, once in a while.’

Dae-hyun had said much the same thing, once. He’d meant it literally: defend her from physical harm. It was different. Only it _wasn’t_ , and she was only now realising how much she’d missed that, how quickly she’d taken it as given that she’d never find it in Gibraltar.

Hana’s hands trailed along Brigitte’s left arm, the one around her stomach. The other was resting on the swell of Hana’s breasts, but there was nothing remotely sexual about it. It was simply the logical place for it to be. It felt right.

‘It’s all right to be soft sometimes,’ Brigitte whispered. ‘I’ve got you.’

She stepped back, then, but before she could disengage entirely Hana spun around and caught one of her hands. ‘Don’t—’ She swallowed. ‘Don’t. I want you to keep holding me.’ Hana’s ears burned. That wasn’t the sort of truth you admitted, not even to yourself, but Brigitte was just grinning at her, and Hana smiled back hesitantly, and then Brigitte just _picked her up_ , like it was nothing, and she squawked and flailed all the way back to the sofas. She ended up on her side, pillowed in Brigitte’s lap, the hand stroking her flank doing something to make up for the wounds to her dignity.

‘See?’ Brigitte said. ‘That wasn’t so bad.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ Hana muttered. ‘This is _humiliating_.’

‘But?’

Hana sighed. ‘But I like it. It’s comfortable.’

Brigitte brushed a strand of hair out of Hana’s eyes. ‘Keep going,’ she said. ‘You’re doing great.’

This was what being a cat must be like, Hana thought, all gentle words and soft hands. ‘It’s hot how strong you are,’ she said, because even cats had claws.

Brigitte shook with laughter. ‘Thank you.’

Hana was silent a long time. ‘He wasn’t there,’ she said eventually.

‘Who?’

‘My friend. Remember? My one friend.’ She laughed. It came out like a sob. ‘He was out of town. Not his fault. And the others… I don’t know. Maybe they were always like that, and I’m the one who changed. It felt so much more hostile. With Dae-hyun it was always different. He wasn’t a pilot, you know? He was our tech guy. He didn’t care who had more kills or who had more advertising deals or whatever the hell else we turned into a competition. It was just… easier. Safer.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘So there you go. Scorecard, D.Va, the teenage years: one friendship.’

‘What about Hana Song, the twenty-year-old? How do you think she’ll do?’

Brigitte’s hand made its way to her head, smoothing hair still tangled from the journey and massaging her scalp in a way that made her shiver all over. Hana pressed into the touch. ‘You make me feel safe, too.’ Her voice was very quiet. ‘I think that’s what I wanted, when I woke up next to you.’ Talking about it like this made it something other than casual sex. It was embarrassing. ‘But I guess I didn’t realise it, and that’s why I left, and that’s why I was weird later.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It wasn’t about the, um, sex.’

‘You’ve been thinking about this.’

‘Not really. But it’s pretty obvious, once I, you know, let myself think about it.’ Hana tilted her head to the side, so she could see Brigitte’s face. ‘I must seem so weird. I don’t even know what I want half the time.’

Brigitte shook her head. ‘Everyone has to learn how to connect to other people, Hana.’ She smiled. ‘Which half is it this time? Do you know what you want?’

Hana licked dry lips. ‘Yes.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘I want you to ask me out again.’

Brigitte’s whole body relaxed a little, as if every cell had let out a tiny breath, and Hana realised the other woman hadn’t been sure where this was going, had been wholly willing to get up and leave if that was what Hana had wanted. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ She looked down at Hana, a very serious expression on her face. ‘How about it? You wanna come round my room tomorrow evening and watch something?’

‘Yes. I do.’ Hana paused. ‘Does that mean we’ll fuck afterwards?’

Finally— _finally_ —Brigitte blushed. It looked good on her, with her freckles. ‘If you like. I’ll spoon you as much as you want, though, sex or no sex.’

‘Good. That’s good.’ Hana took a deep breath. ‘It’s a date.’ She sat up, folding herself into position so she could look at Brigitte. ‘I should go. I really need a shower. But promise me one thing first? Please keep being nice to me? I think—I think it’s good for me.’

‘Even if you stand me up tomorrow,’ Brigitte said slowly, ‘I’ll still be nice to you. No one should be punished for letting themselves be vulnerable.’

Hana nodded once, jerkily. Then she darted forward and pressed her lips to Brigitte’s. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but Brigitte’s lips were soft and her arms wrapped around Hana and all the nervous energy Hana wasn’t quite sure what to do with dissipated between them, replaced by something calmer and more peaceful. When she pulled away, the look in Brigitte’s eyes was pure mischief. ‘What?’

‘Straight, are you?’

‘Oh, fuck off. Just watch, I’m going to keep calling myself straight just to annoy you.’

‘I know you will.’ Brigitte leaned in and pressed one more kiss to Hana’s lips. ‘And I wouldn’t want you any other way.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An experience every fanfic writer should have: the first major bit of lore about one of your principle characters arriving, out of nowhere, just as you're gearing up to post.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! I went from "uh, they don't interact literally ever" to "I ship this" in about two days, and I hope I've done a decent job of convincing y'all that this dynamic works!


	2. Brigitte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting something is easy. Maintaining it is harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Speed has never been a feature of my writing. :p

The second time Brigitte woke with Hana Song in her arms, the other girl was still asleep.

They were facing each other, Hana curled up smaller than she normally was, head tucked in under Brigitte’s chin. When Brigitte pulled her even closer she made a noise somewhere between a purr and a sigh.

It should have been impossible to reconcile the girl sharing her bed with the ironic sarcasm of D.Va. But Hana wasn’t as soft as she appeared, and D.Va not as hard, and Brigitte thought she was beginning to understand.

Hana stirred. ‘What time is it?’ She sounded sleepy but alert, like someone used to waking at odd hours.

Brigitte glanced at the clock on her bedside table. ‘Middle of the night,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘That’s okay.’ Hana uncurled herself, slowly. She didn’t turn away. She didn’t wriggle out from beneath Brigitte’s touch. The length of her body was a comforting presence against Brigitte’s. ‘Mmm. You’re like a quality mattress.’

That forced an unexpected laugh out of Brigitte. ‘What?’

‘Your boobs are soft,’ Hana said, without a hint of embarrassment, ‘but underneath you’re nice and firm.’

Brigitte couldn’t see Hana’s grin, but she could feel it in the play of lips against her skin. The darkness hid her blush well. ‘Thanks?’

‘Thank _you_. For last night. It was exactly what I needed.’

Brigitte smiled into Hana’s hair. ‘Which bit?’

A laugh, and then Hana’s hand was running teasingly down her naked back. ‘All the bits.’

Sometimes, Brigitte thought, there were moments out of time, and when the clocks struck up again it was easy to dismiss them as transient, impermanent, irrelevant. Brigitte didn’t understand Hana Song, not yet. But seeing this relaxed version of Hana, vulnerable and confident all at once—it was a start she didn’t intend to dismiss.

*

Two weeks before Hana’s birthday, Brigitte was chosen for a field assignment for the first time. She could sense Reinhardt’s hand behind the decision: it had exactly the sort of profile he liked in a training exercise, challenging but with a low risk of catastrophe. _The safest tasks are not the ones least likely to go wrong_ , he’d told her once, _but the ones that can be handled even if they do_.

Tracer led the briefing. ‘There’s a woman, a scientist, who has something Talon wants,’ she said. ‘She’s arranged an exchange in a village outside Marrakech.’ She kept glancing at Reinhardt, as if expecting him to cut in. ‘I’ll pose as the Talon contact and meet with her. The three of you, meanwhile, will set up camp up the road to the east’—she frowned and jabbed at her tablet several times, and the wall screen zoomed in on a satellite image of anonymous scrubland bisected by a thin dirt road—‘where we have information the actual Talon agent is arriving by convoy. Your job is to delay them until I’m done, then get out.’ Tracer looked up. ‘Questions?’

‘Do we know who the agent is?’ Reinhardt already knew the answer, Brigitte could tell, but he was trying to put Tracer at ease. A decade ago it would have been him in charge or nothing, but he’d changed since then.

‘No,’ Tracer said. ‘And neither does the scientist. That’s why I can take their place.’

‘You sure that’s gonna work? Aren’t you, like, world famous?’ Hana had her feet up on the conference table, chair balanced on its rear legs. Reinhardt shot her the sort of look that would have had Brigitte scurrying away in shame, and which only made Hana raise her eyebrows at him.

‘People know my name,’ Tracer said, ‘but you’d be surprised how little they remember my face when there’s a shiny blue thing attached to my chest.’ She shrugged. ‘Hide the chronal accelerator, most people have no idea who I am.’

‘A good thing,’ Reinhardt said with the air of someone making an entirely unrelated observation, ‘that Overwatch never decided to plaster your face all over their marketing.’

Hana popped her bubblegum in his direction. ‘Says the man with a line of ramen in Korea.’

‘That was a _limited edition_ run—’

‘What is it,’ Brigitte said loudly, ‘that Talon wants from this woman?’

‘Need-to-know.’ Tracer rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry.’ She glanced from Reinhardt, who was still glaring daggers, to Hana, who was pointedly ignoring him, and cleared her throat. ‘If that’s it for questions, I guess we’re done. Briefing’—she paused, frowning, and Brigitte could see her trying to remember the right word—'adjourned. See you all tomorrow at 0800 hours.’

Overwatch wasn’t a military organisation, and it was easy to forget that Lena, of all people, had a military background, and so it was that _oh-eight-hundred_ that finally made it real for Brigitte. It’s not that she was worried. She trusted both Hana and Reinhardt to look out for her. But it was _real_.

Hana was first to the exit. ‘See you around, Lindholm,’ she said from the doorway. ‘Better get some more sleep tonight, huh?’

Brigitte blushed as she recalled the sleep she hadn’t been getting. Hana compounded the situation by blowing her a kiss. Then she was gone.

‘I don’t understand why you get along with the brat,’ Reinhardt grumbled, but his tone had been defanged.

‘She’s not so bad,’ Brigitte said, suddenly very glad of Reinhardt’s biases: he was usually more astute than he seemed when it came to matters of romance. His dislike of Hana was at least good for one thing, if it blinded him to such obvious flirting.

‘Mate, she wouldn’t be half so bad if you didn’t let her get to you.’ Lena was in the process of stuffing her briefing materials back in her pockets. ‘And next time you’re doing the bloody briefing. You know I hate them.’

Reinhardt spread his hands and delivered his best proud-teacher smile. ‘You did magnificently!’

Lena snorted. ‘Cheers. Think I need a cuppa, though. You wanna come?’

Reinhardt had responded in the affirmative and the two of them were halfway out the door before he turned back and Brigitte realised the offer included her. ‘Oh. Er. You go ahead. I have things I need to do.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Lena grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, luv. You’re gonna do fine.’

*

She’d planned on taking Hana’s advice, she really had. Her body had insisted she was tired at ten. Sometime after midnight and no closer to sleep, she’d had to admit it might have been lying and she got up and padded down the cold, empty corridor on bare feet.

Hana’s door slid open almost immediately. Hana herself was sitting at her desk, headset on, screen angled away so Brigitte couldn’t see what she was playing. She was saying something in Korean, and for a moment Brigitte thought the door had opened accidentally, but then Hana was beckoning her in with one hand, and she let the door shut behind her. Hana shot her an apologetic glance and held up five fingers: _five minutes_.

It was a curious experience, watching her: streaming wasn’t an activity designed to be observed in person. Hana’s reactions, her mannerisms, were too expressive for the otherwise empty room. Then there came one line of English in amongst the Korean— _love, D.Va!_ —and Brigitte could identify the moment Hana went offline by the way her expression changed. It wasn’t that she became someone else. She was always herself. But it was as if someone had turned the volume down on a speaker, and the thud of the bass had ceased imprinting itself on the air around it and become something calmer.

‘I didn’t know you still streamed,’ Brigitte said.

‘Always will.’ Hana took her headset off and ran a hand through her hair. Brigitte had never been a huge fan, not like some of her siblings, but she’d watched D.Va’s English stream once or twice, and there was something slightly reverent about seeing behind the scenes like this. Idly she wondered how her family would react if she ever brought Hana home.

‘Isn’t it early morning in Korea?’

Hana sat down on the bed with her back against the wall, made a face, and reached for one of her pillows. ‘There’s always someone around. I stream at all sorts of times, nowadays. Makes it harder to guess where I am. Not supposed to be public knowledge, you know how it is.’

Brigitte didn’t. She doubted anyone particularly cared where she was. ‘You didn’t have to stop for me.’

‘Good a time as any.’ Hana paused. ‘Besides, I wanted to stop for you.’ Then, suddenly, ‘I like your pyjamas. Not seen you in pyjamas before. It’s always been all or nothing, I guess.’

Brigitte tugged at her sleeve self-consciously. The pyjamas were flannel, of course, and there were cats printed down one side, an adult’s version of something a child would wear. ‘Thanks.’

Hana tilted her head to one side. There was a frown playing across her lips. ‘You okay?’

‘I don’t know. I guess so. Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Nervous?’

‘Maybe.’

The frown was still there. ‘Come on,’ Hana said, patting the duvet beside her. ‘Tell me about it.’

Brigitte hesitated. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘Thank god.’ Hana grinned. ‘That you’re not perfect,’ she clarified.

Brigitte found herself smiling. ‘I never said I was,’ she said, and Hana just laughed and gestured at the bed again.

As soon as she sat Hana made herself comfortable, curling up against her in a way that was slowly becoming familiar, head pillowed on her chest, one arm wedged awkwardly between them. ‘I thought you were going to comfort me this time,’ Brigitte said.

‘I can comfort you just fine from down here,’ Hana said, and Brigitte found that she was right. ‘So what’s bothering you?’

Brigitte considered the best way to put it. ‘I guess—in the briefing today. I guess I was starstruck.’

Hana snorted. ‘ _Starstruck?_ Wait. By _Tracer_?’ She wriggled against Brigitte’s side, searching for just the right position. ‘You realise she hated doing it, right? She felt totally out of her depth, I could tell.’

‘Yeah. I know. And yeah, I know, she’s only a couple years older than me, but I’ve heard so many stories about her… And I could handle it, you know, professionally, that was fine, but then afterwards she asked us if we wanted to get a drink and, I don’t know, I just panicked.’

‘She didn’t ask _me_ if I wanted to get a drink,’ Hana muttered.

‘Maybe you should have stuck around.’

Hana ignored her. ‘Besides, what about me? _I’m_ famous. More famous than her, as your godfather jumped to point out.’

She couldn’t see Hana’s face, but Brigitte could imagine her expression perfectly, her pout only half-joking. ‘You’re different,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Her thing is being nice to people. That’s way more intimidating.’

Hana mulled that over. ‘You’re weird,’ she said eventually.

Brigitte smoothed back a strand of Hana’s hair. ‘You’re doing pretty well out of me not being intimidated by you.’ Hana pressed into her hand, just as Brigitte had known she would, and she had to fight back a laugh. ‘If it makes you feel better, you’re definitely part of it. Tracer, D.Va, Reinhardt. You’re all legends in your own way. And then what am I? Someone’s kid.’

‘Hey.’ Hana pulled away a little, propping herself up so she could look at Brigitte. ‘We’re all someone’s kid.’ Her other hand was on Brigitte’s side, under her pyjama top, rubbing circles into her skin. It felt good.

‘Thanks, but—’

‘No, listen. You’re good at what you do, right? I know you are. I’ve seen you work. So am I. The difference between us is that no one decided to turn your life into reality TV. If anything, you’re gonna do better than me. At least you had a teacher.’

Hana’s hand ventured further around her back, and Brigitte let herself be pulled into a hug. It was remarkable, she thought, that someone so small and slim could feel so solid. Hana’s was a hidden strength, but no less real for it. ‘Thanks,’ Brigitte said, and this time she put all the sincerity she could muster in it. ‘Really.’

‘You know I hate that sentimental stuff,’ Hana added. ‘You better appreciate it.’

Brigitte laughed. ‘I know. And I do.’ She paused. ‘Can I sleep here tonight?’

‘Yeah,’ Hana said, manoeuvring herself back into Brigitte’s lap. ‘Of course you can.’ Her eyes flicked to Brigitte’s lips. ‘Can I kiss you?’

‘You’re asking? That’s new.’

Hana shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem important when I was the vulnerable one.’

And there it was again, one of those moments when Hana was simply herself, honest and so much more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. ‘Yes,’ Brigitte said. ‘You can kiss me.’

Hana tasted like bubblegum. Sleep came easily after that.

*

Marrakesh was a smudge on the horizon when Tracer brought the dropship down. The landscape east of the city was craggier than it had looked on the satellite imagery, and it swallowed the dropship whole. The engines cut out, the landing gear settled, and there was silence.

‘Road’s about a mile north of here,’ Tracer said, scanning the navigation screens. ‘There’s a crossroads where it comes down out of the mountains.’ She flashed Brigitte a grin. ‘Be a bit of a hike for you lot. Sorry ‘bout that.’ Even if her unique talents hadn’t eliminated the need for hiking, Tracer was dressed far more appropriately than the rest of them: a loose white tunic covered the bulk of her chronal accelerator, and her normally spiky hair lay flat beneath a wrap. Brigitte had had her doubts, but Tracer was right. She was basically unrecognisable.

‘Nonsense!’ Reinhardt boomed. He was out of armour, and therefore taking up only two seats. ‘A bit of warm-up will do us good.’

Brigitte was less confident. There was sunlight streaming through the windows. She could all but feel the summer heat that Spain had already left behind.

‘One more time,’ Reinhardt went on. ‘The plan?’

‘Wait by the crossroads,’ Brigitte said once it became clear no one else was intending to answer. ‘Stall until Tracer gives us the all-clear. Then retreat and rendezvous at the dropship. If necessary, extract Tracer.’

‘Good!’ Reinhardt said, so loud that Tracer, sitting next to him, winced visibly. ‘And if we run into more trouble than expected?’

At the other end of the dropship, Hana looked up from the game she was playing, pointed at her headphones, and looked back down.

‘Leave her be,’ Brigitte said into the silence that followed Reinhardt’s world-weary sigh. ‘We’ve been over it. She knows what to do.’

‘It’s not about that. It’s about respect.’ A second passed, and then he relented. ‘Very well. As long as she’s ready.’

Tracer patted his arm. ‘Hana hasn’t let us down so far. Comms check?’

Brigitte reached up to the comms unit in her ear. She wasn’t used to it: it felt like it would fall out at any moment, but so far it had remained in place. She flicked it on, and Tracer’s next words came to her twice over. ‘Check,’ she said, a second behind Reinhardt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hana give a thumbs up.

‘Right then,’ Tracer said. ‘See you all in a couple hours.’ She flashed them a salute, cycled the main doors open, and disappeared.

Brigitte spent the better part of the next hour helping Reinhardt prepare. The old Crusader armour was arcane, dozens of pieces interlocking to give the appearance of total solidity: putting it on was a task for more than two people, but they’d had practice, and they were still well ahead of schedule by the time Brigitte handed him the helmet. Her own gear took less than half as long.

‘Five minutes,’ Reinhardt said. ‘Then we leave.’

Waiting in the desert would be hell in armour, but Brigitte knew better than to argue. There was no point risking the mission on the assumption Talon would be punctual.

Hana hadn’t moved the entire time. She was leaning against her mech, eyes closed, headphones still on. Brigitte had helped her get ready, too, zipping her into that absurd skintight suit before they’d left in the morning, and it was difficult to square that fact with how utterly unapproachable she looked now. For all that she’d defended Hana, Brigitte fought down a flash of annoyance. She’d thought there was a real bond between them, the kind that persisted in the light of day.

Rather than risk saying something unkind, she turned to Reinhardt, who was in the process of manoeuvring himself out the door. ‘So what was the deal with the ramen, anyway?’

‘You ask this now?’ Reinhardt sounded pained.

‘Why not?’ Brigitte said, warming to her topic as she followed him down the ramp. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story. And we have a long walk ahead of us.’

Behind them, she could hear Hana climbing into her mech. She’d never actually seen the mech in use, and for a moment her curiosity was split in opposite directions, but then Reinhardt said, ‘There was a woman.’

Brigitte groaned. ‘ _Really?_ ’

‘Of course!’

Whatever else he was going to say was drowned out by the sound of the Meka’s thrusters firing up, and a second later it shot out of the dropship, Hana’s face a vague blur behind the controls. ‘Gonna scout ahead,’ Hana said over the comms. ‘Keep talking though. I wanna hear this too.’

Brigitte fancied she could hear the click of Reinhardt’s mouth shutting the moment he remembered Hana could hear them. She took the opportunity to seal the door. ‘So…’

‘Fine,’ he said as the two of them set off down the path. It was narrow and rocky, not the kind of terrain best suited to a Crusader, and Brigitte made sure to stay behind him. ‘She was the most beautiful woman in the world!’

‘That’s what you say about everyone.’ She was already sweating under the desert sun, and it suddenly occurred to her, several hours too late, that she should have brought one of her bandanas.

Reinhardt harrumphed. ‘She was the most beautiful woman _in Korea._ ’

Brigitte laughed. It felt good to take her mind off the mission, and the fact that Reinhardt was clearly suffering even more than her made the heat bearable. ‘That’s more believable.’

‘And I was only there for two weeks. It was for one of those rehabilitation conferences. The future of human-omnic relations! You know the sort. She was one of the speakers, and as soon as I saw her…’ He sighed. ‘I knew I had to make a grand gesture!’

Brigitte rolled her eyes. Reinhardt’s sense of romance was stuck firmly a hundred years in the past, a consequence of his obsession with music of the era. It only added to his blindspot around Hana: in Brigitte’s experience, very little of that music was about two boys or two girls.

‘All I knew about her was that she loved ramen. And then, halfway through the conference, I was approached by a marketing executive… It was a sign, Brigitte! Plain as day.’

‘Uh-huh.’ The path had levelled off, depositing them in the scant shade of the ridge they’d just descended from. Brigitte thought she could see the road in the distance, a lighter blur against the brown of the land, but it could just as easily have been a mirage. ‘So, I’m guessing one thing led to another, and suddenly you were the mascot of a brand of ramen?’

‘If only.’ Reinhardt managed to imbue the words with tragedy befitting an epic poem. ‘Do you know the difference between ramen and ramyeon?’

‘One’s Japanese and one’s Korean?’ Brigitte guessed.

‘Yes,’ Reinhardt said, ‘but specifically, in Korea it means instant noodles. In Japan it doesn’t, necessarily. And, well, her mother was Japanese, and she owned a noodle shop in Fukuoka, and what _she_ meant by ramen…’

A burst of laughter came through the comms. Reinhardt missed a step. ‘Oh, _no!_ Noodle snobs are the _worst_. Why spend four hours cooking when it takes thirty seconds in the microwave?’ Hana audibly composed herself. ‘What happened?’

Brigitte shaded her eyes. In the distance, sunlight glinted off what may or may not have been Hana’s mech. She still wasn’t used to the comms: having a conversation with someone right next to her or with someone miles away was one thing, but both at once was a little strange.

Reinhardt cleared his throat. ‘She informed me that, next to all the moderately acceptable brands I could have chosen, the one that had approached me wasn’t fit for eating and it showed in their desperation for a halfway famous face. That was that.’

There was silence for a few seconds. Then, ‘What an asshole. If it makes you feel better, old man, I _loved_ those noodles.’

Brigitte could see Reinhardt’s fist clench and unclench. ‘Infuriating as it is to admit, it actually does.’

There was only one word for it: Hana _cackled_. ‘I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead, boys and girls. D.Va out.’ A click came over the comms as she left the active channel.

‘That one’s going to force me into retirement sooner rather than later.’ Reinhardt sighed in the very particular way he had to indicate that young people were tiring. ‘Learn from my mistakes, Brigitte. Forget the ramen. If you want someone to take you seriously, introduce them to your family. It’s the only grand gesture that works.’

*

There was a shelter by the crossroads. It could have been a bus stop, though Brigitte couldn’t imagine what bus line would reach out so far. She passed the time imagining what sort of life would bring someone to the same dusty stretch of road, over and over, often enough to warrant putting it up. Whatever its origin, it turned a torturous experience merely uncomfortable. There was nowhere to hide other than the shelter, but it didn’t much matter: dust trails would give away any vehicles miles off, and they had Hana keeping an eye up the road.

There was an old adage about battles, boredom, and terror, but Brigitte found she felt neither boredom nor terror as she stood and waited. Reinhardt, silently immovable beside her, was a stout role model, and instead of dwelling on the moment she let herself think.

Half an hour into the wait she was brought out of her reverie by a voice in her ear. ‘Hey, Lindholm?’

Brigitte glanced at Reinhardt, but he hadn’t reacted. Hana must have switched their comms to a private channel. ‘Yeah?’

‘How you holding up?’

It wasn’t quite the right moment, in the middle of a mission, but the minutes were long, they were unlikely to be taken by surprise, and the annoyance she’d felt earlier still nipped at her heels: it was the kind of emotion that could easily grow into something darker if left to fester. Brigitte spent a few moments thinking of the best way to broach the subject, then settled on the matter closest to hand: ‘Why don’t you use my first name?’

Hana was quiet. It was alarming, having a conversation like this where she couldn’t see Hana’s body language, but it was too late to back out now. ‘Does it matter?’

The words themselves were aggressive, but the tone was not. Brigitte was finding it more difficult to read Hana than she usually did. It was throwing her off-balance. ‘Right now it does.’

Hana’s sigh rattled through the earpiece. ‘I don’t feel confident pronouncing your first name,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get it wrong. Sorry. I know it’s dumb.’

‘That’s really it?’

‘Yeah. That’s it.’ Hana sounded concerned now. ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

Brigitte closed her eyes. ‘You seemed… distant. In the dropship. And now the thing with my name—’ She cut herself off, because the very fact that Hana had checked in with her went some way to making up for it.

‘Oh.’

‘And I thought… I don’t know. Maybe you felt awkward being friendly in front of the others.’

Another long silence, and then Hana said, ‘Maybe that was partly it. But that’s just how I am before a mission. Goes back to my tournament days. I couldn’t talk to anyone for at least an hour before I went on stage.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t think how it would seem to you.’

And that was the key point, wasn’t it? It was so hard to walk that line, to want her own feelings to be cared for without encroaching on Hana’s. She wanted to reassure and be reassured. She wanted Hana to spare a thought for how it would seem to her. None of that seemed like the right thing to say, though, and so for the first time in her life, she took Reinhardt’s advice as it related to her love life. ‘Where are you spending the New Year?’

‘What?’

‘Are you going back to Korea?’

She could almost hear Hana’s confusion. ‘That was the plan, but after my trip the other day… I might stay on base. Why?’

‘You wanna come home with me? Spend the holidays with my family? I’d love to introduce you to my siblings.’ Hana was silent a long, long time. ‘Hana?’ Brigitte said uncertainly.

‘Incoming,’ Hana said, ‘I see dust.’

‘Can you ID them?’ Reinhardt’s voice nearly made her jump. She’d missed the click of the channels switching again.

‘Two trucks. Licence plates match the intel. It’s them.’

*

It was anticlimactic, of course. Hana knocked the trucks—one older, on wheels, the other a newer hover model—over a hundred paces from the crossroads, ramming her mech straight into their sides. After that it was simply a matter of keeping the Talon agent and their soldiers corralled, pinned down between the downed trucks and the impassable plane of Reinhardt’s shield.

Hana did most of the work. Her cannons were mostly harmless at long range, but they were excellent at making people move in the right direction. The few who made a run for it ended up knocked down by casual, clinical taps from Reinhardt’s hammer. Brigitte’s sole contribution was to sweep the legs out from beneath a woman who’d made it past Reinhardt’s blockade.

The first incarnation of Overwatch would have done things differently. Destroy the trucks, eliminate any hope of reaching the rendezvous on time, and that would have been that. It was different after recall, though. They were all on probation. Slow, meticulous, non-obtrusive, and above all, non-lethal—that was the new philosophy.

An hour into the stand-off, Tracer’s voice summoned them as if from a dream. ‘Mission accomplished. More or less.’

‘Retreat,’ Reinhardt said, but Brigitte was already backing off, keeping her shield up.

‘I’ll keep them occupied,’ Hana said. ‘Bon voyage.’

It was a long, boring walk back to the dropship.

*

The good news was that Brigitte’s nerves had disappeared entirely. There was nothing innately special about a mission just because it was conducted for Overwatch. It hadn’t been glamorous. It didn’t even rank in the top three most dangerous situations Brigitte had found herself in, squiring for Reinhardt. It was a good thing, a healthy thing, a demythologising.

Brigitte focused on that good. It was easier than acknowledging the awkward silence that existed between her and Hana. She’d talk to her back in Gibraltar, was the rationale, and then, disembarking, she felt so tired it was easier to put off until the next day, only the next day Hana had a recon mission and Brigitte had to fix up the scuffs on her armour, and the day after—

It could have gone on until the thing that existed between them shrunk back to nothing. For nearly two weeks Brigitte found reasons not to talk to Hana, and Hana must equally have found reasons not to talk to her, and it was so _stupid_ because Brigitte didn’t even know why Hana had reacted so badly to her invitation, but it was that very ignorance that made her feel like she couldn’t be the one to approach her. How could she make things right, when she didn’t even know what was wrong?

The day before Hana’s birthday, Brigitte was sitting in the communal kitchen, eating lunch and wondering what to do about the present she’d arranged for Hana back before the weirdness had begun, when Lena hopped up onto the stool opposite her, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk.’

There had been a demythologising around Lena, too, but Brigitte still found her a little intimidating, not as a war hero but as someone who was so obviously in control of her own life. ‘About what?’

Lena removed the teabag, leaving it dripping on the countertop. ‘You’re pining.’

Brigitte blushed. ‘I’m not.’

‘Moping, then. And maybe it’s not my place but honestly, you were happy before and now you’re not.’

It’s not that she was _unhappy_ , but nor could she deny the charge. ‘I guess so.’

‘It’s Hana, right?’

‘What?’

Lena gave her a reassuring grin. ‘The person you’re pining after.’

‘How did you—’ Brigitte said before she could think to deny it. Her blush deepened. ‘I mean, I didn’t think anyone had noticed. Reinhardt definitely didn’t.’

Lena laughed. ‘I love him, really I do, but Reinhardt’s an old straight bloke. If there’s anything I’m qualified to do on this base it’s recognise when two girls are flirting with each other.’

Brigitte busied herself with her pastry. ‘All right, but…’

‘But what?’ Lena met her eyes, deliberately, and her voice turned gentle. ‘Whatever it is, it’s not gonna go away if you both ignore it. Talk to her.’

‘I want to! But I don’t even know what caused it. I don’t get why Hana’s acting the way she is.’

‘So ask her,’ Lena said. ‘She doesn’t know why _you’re_ acting the way you are.’

‘Wait,’ Brigitte said, ‘did you talk to her, too?’

‘Bloody hell, no, I’m not brave enough to talk to Hana Song about her love life. But I know she’s not a mindreader. It goes both ways, Brigitte. One of you just has to make the first move.’ Lena finished her tea in a single gulp. ‘That’s enough nosiness for my taste,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have said anything, only I didn’t think you had anyone to talk to about this sort of thing. Good luck, yeah? Give it a shot.’ Lena smiled. ‘She’s down in the maintenance bays. You’ve got nothing to lose by being sincere, luv.’ She tipped Brigitte a salute, hopped off her stool, and waltzed out the door.

In the end, it was that word which got through to Brigitte: _sincere_.

She didn’t go down to the maintenance bays. It wouldn’t have been fair to Hana, to corner her into a conversation. Instead, she returned to her own room, pulled up the internal communication system, and requested to be put through to Hana’s room. As she’d known it would, the system defaulted to an automated message system after only a few seconds.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but only if you want to hear them. I said all that stuff about sincerity, and I didn’t even notice I wasn’t taking my own advice.’ Brigitte paused, half-expecting an answer from the machine. ‘I’m sorry. But I was hoping we could talk. I’ll be in my room all evening.’ She could have gone on, but nothing of substance was left to say. She ended the connection, lay back, and waited.

*

Brigitte didn’t think of it in terms of hope. She’d made a mistake, and she’d reached out to rectify it, and there was nothing else to do. Sometimes that wasn’t enough, and she’d learnt to accept that.

And yet, where there had not been hope, relief appeared in full force when, some time after eleven, the intercom buzzed. Brigitte measured out the three steps from one side of her room to the other, paused to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear, and palmed the door control.

Hana was wearing shorts and a plain t-shirt. Her hair was down, messy, as if she’d just woken up. ‘Spent a while thinking about it,’ she said without preamble. ‘Thought I’d feel like a dick if I didn’t hear you out.’ A smile, and Brigitte relaxed a little. ‘That’s your positive influence, I guess.’

‘Want to come in?’ Brigitte’s words came out too gently, as if Hana were an animal that might spook, and she winced. Hana didn’t seem to notice, though, and pushed past her, throwing herself down on the bed. Brigitte shut the door, appraised the situation, and took the desk chair instead, kicking herself into the narrow space between her bed and the wall.

Hana was on her side, expression neutral. ‘Well, go on then,’ she said after several seconds had passed.

‘Right.’ It was hard, suddenly, to marshal the words she’d prepared so carefully. ‘Start with the basics. I really like you, Hana.’ It was the second time she’d said those words in the space of a month, but the stakes felt higher this time. ‘I wasn’t sure how I’d feel here, with Overwatch. It felt too big for me. But then you were here, and being with you was so comfortable… It made that anxiety so much more bearable. And, look, I know it’s early, but I just—I wanted to communicate that I took you seriously. That I wanted to take _us_ , together, seriously. If you wanted to. And that’s why I suggested meeting my family. I’ve always been taught that that’s the next step, you know? And I’m kicking myself now, because I should have just said what I _meant_ , instead of assuming you’d understand what my intentions were. I’m sorry.’ Hana’s expression had softened a little, but there was still a wariness to her, and Brigitte forged ahead before she could lose her train of thought. ‘And I wish I knew why you reacted the way you did. I wish I could sit here and spell out what I did wrong, and you’d know that I understood, that I never meant to upset you. But I don’t. Not exactly. I could guess, maybe, but I don’t want to put words in your mouth.’ She smiled, a little crooked, but sincere nonetheless. ‘So, tell me? Help me understand.’

Hana was silent for a long time. Brigitte could all but see her struggling against her instincts, against the defences that were so ingrained in how she related to people. Eventually, though, she said, ‘it’s the exact opposite for me.’

Brigitte’s heart wanted to sink. She forced it afloat. There was nothing to be gained from jumping to conclusions. ‘Oh?’

‘Every relationship I’ve ever been in has been public,’ Hana said. ‘That’s how it is when you’re famous. There were gossip columns dedicated to cataloguing every date I went on.’ Her mouth twisted in something that was neither a smile nor a frown. ‘And I admit, I never tried very hard to change that. Part of me liked it. But I thought… I thought things were different this time. So when you said—well, it felt like more of the same. Being paraded, showing off, being shown off, whatever.’ She raised a finger to cut off Brigitte’s protests. ‘I know that’s not how you meant it. But that’s how it felt. I couldn’t help it. But…’ Her expression was suddenly so open Brigitte had to fight back the urge to reach across and touch her. ‘To me, _serious_ means _private_. Not forever. But for now. Every evening I’ve spent with you, even the boring ones, has felt more meaningful than basically every other relationship I’ve ever had. Peaceful, you know? Quiet. And I didn’t want to give that up. Not yet.’

‘So,’ Brigitte said, and her heart was beating so fast it caught her by surprise—when had she begun to care _that_ much?—‘we’re on the same page? Family introductions aside?’

‘Yeah. I think we are. As long as… I don’t want—right now—’ Hana made a frustrated noise. ‘The, like… girlfriend thing. That doesn’t matter so much to me. At the moment.’

‘For a straight girl, you’re finding it awfully hard to say the word “girlfriend”.’

She’d meant it teasingly, but Hana’s lips performed only half a smile. ‘I am. Is that okay?’

‘I don’t care about the specific words,’ Brigitte said. ‘If it keeps making us happy, you can be my straight not-a-girlfriend for as long as you like.’

The smile became whole. ‘I owe you an apology as well. I shouldn’t have shut you out the last couple weeks. That was… that was how old me did things. Could still stand to make a few improvements in that area, I guess.’

Brigitte shrugged. ‘You came tonight. That’s the important thing.’

‘And sorry to leave you hanging. I hope you don’t mind going home alone for Christmas.’

‘I’d rather stay here with you,’ Brigitte said without thinking. ‘Um, I mean, if you want. I don’t have to.’

But Hana was smiling her rarest smile, the one without a drop of the acerbic. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. My family’s huge. Christmas with them is nice, but… tiring.’ Brigitte laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind an excuse to skip it one year.’

‘Oh, so now I’m an excuse?’ Hana raised an eyebrow, and she was back to her usual self. Brigitte didn’t mind. It was the contrast that made Hana who she was.

‘You know what I mean,’ Brigitte said, and now she did reach across the gap, giving Hana’s shoulder a playful nudge with her foot. ‘But we can work that out later. For now…’ She glanced at the clock by her bed. ‘Happy birthday. Want your present?’

*

Brigitte opened the kitchen cupboard with a flourish, then stepped back to let Hana see what was inside. Hana stared for long enough that Brigitte began to worry the idea had been a bad one, but then she said, in a voice thick with glee, ‘Oh my god. He’s going to _hate_ it.’

The cupboard was filled to the brim with a specific brand of Korean instant ramen. Two dozen tiny Reinhardts grinned down at them from the labels, offering two dozen tiny bowls of soup. _Bring me another!_ the packaging commanded, and there was enough there to fulfil the command for weeks to come.

‘How did you _find_ these?’ Hana went on. ‘They’re, like, collector’s items.’

‘Turns out my father kept a few boxes. You know, for posterity. He was more than happy to part with one or two.’

Hana spun on the spot, and all of a sudden Brigitte found herself pushed back against the kitchen island, Hana’s hands in her hair pulling her down for a fierce kiss. It took her a moment to come to her senses, but then she was kissing back, hands finding Hana’s back and sides, and the other girl let herself be lifted into position, legs wrapped around Brigitte’s waist, and for the first time Brigitte had to look _up_ at her.

And it was the middle of the night, and the kitchen was deserted, but it was public, and it was a start.

‘Not that I’m complaining,’ Brigitte said when they broke apart, out of breath for reasons besides the strain of holding Hana up, ‘but I thought maybe we’d discuss things a bit more before—’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Hana said, punctuating each phrase with another kiss—‘you _get_ me—and you make me happy—and right this instant it’s allowed to be that simple.’ She pulled back, and Brigitte’s breath caught at the sight of her, flushed face framed by a nebula of hair. ‘Now I want you to carry me back to your room, and if we have time later maybe we can talk.’

Brigitte grinned. ‘You sure you don’t want some ramen first?’

*

Later, another interstitial moment.

‘Hey, Brigitte?’

A little shiver went through her at the sound of Hana using her first name. ‘Yeah?’

‘Are you falling in love with me?’

It was the sort of question that could have been so stressful, in other circumstances. Brigitte gave it some thought, trailing idle kisses along Hana’s shoulders and neck. ‘I don’t know,’ she said truthfully.

Hana made an affirmative noise. ‘Seems a bit early to tell.’

‘You know what, though? I wouldn’t mind finding out.’

Hana reached back, captured one of Brigitte’s arms, and draped it around herself. It took her the better part of a minute to arrange their bodies to her satisfaction. ‘Yeah,’ she said once she was done. ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’

**Author's Note:**

> That's me done for now. I think this is a ship that deserves more love. I hope y'all enjoyed my contribution to it! :)


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